Who was Johnnie Gill? Chapter 14

 by Victor Sullivan   © 2015   Money, Drink and Ribbon

1892

While the demand for rat traps would be everlasting, Johnnie's interest in manufacturing them faded, the same was not true of chairs. Johnnie had sold his chairs as far away as Bantry, having appointed a nephew of the very satisfied Mrs. Lynch to act as his agent, payment strictly on a commission basis. Thomas Gill felt he could no longer lay claim to his own workshop above the cow-stalls as Johnnie's work-in-progress filled every available corner. Wood shavings and sawdust covered the floor and chair-components were tied in bundles that hung from the roof. Johnnie had developed a production line system. No longer did he make one chair at a time from start to finish. Instead, he would make only left front legs for two or three days, then change to right front legs and so on. In the interests of space saving, he only assembled each chair and wove the cording of the seat immediately before delivery to a customer. 

It became clear, even to the most casual observer, that the family cripple was earning substantial money from the combination of his chair manufacturing enterprise, his popular fishing tackle creations and the sewing machine services he provided. His brothers and sisters were getting an irregular pittance from their father for their traditionally expected free, (almost), labour on the farm. Jealousy smouldered beneath the surface for many months and the little acts of kindness that Johnnie had grown used to from his family members could no longer be relied upon. The matter reached boiling point in the Gill household late one evening.

For many months Johnnie had been frequently journeying to town on Eureka, availing of a friendly tow from any horse-cart that passed him. Occasionally he would borrow Nancy and her cart to deliver chairs either directly to local individual customers or to meet the little steamship at the pier for delivery to his chair-agent in Bantry. Whenever he had Nancy and the cart, it became his routine to visit  the Hardware and Timber merchant to replenish his stock of raw materials. It had also become his habit on such occasions to visit the Corner Bar for a pint or two before setting out for home, a practice frowned upon most heavily by both of his non-drinking, pious parents. 

Johnnie Gill undoubtedly had imbibed more than two pints on a cold, April evening in 1892, when he had to be lifted onto the cart by a couple of bar customers who noticed his hesitant predicament with some amusement. Being kindly and helpful men, they untied his horse, placed the reins in Johnnie's hands, turned Nancy towards her home and gave her a gentle slap on her rump.  The old mare ploddingly navigated the two miles competently and safely until, on arrival at the Gill farmyard, Nancy tried to enter the open doorway of her stable with the cart still attached and her intoxicated driver snoring. The front end of one cart-shaft dislodged the stable door-frame and at the same time a wheel of the cart crushed the wooden water-butt beyond repair. Nancy would never  drink from it again. Captain's frantic barking initiated a general state of pandemonium, the outcome of which was a severe chilling of the domestic climate towards Johnnie and he was barred from ever again taking Nancy to town without constant parental supervision.

'Necessity is the mother of invention' and, inspired by considerable desperation and motivated by much ill-tempered frustration, the next big ambition began to germinate rapidly in Johnnie;s head. The solution was staring him in the face every time he took to the road. There was always one to be seen somewhere. In fact they were everywhere, dozens of them, in most cases they were driven and owned by shawl-wrapped women taking butter and eggs to market or going to Mass. On Sundays there would be scores of them lining the roadside hedges near every church. DONKEYS! Donkeys with their carts. A donkey and cart would suit his requirements perfectly. A few modifications to the traditional design of the cart would make life much simpler for loading both Eureka and himself. But it mustn't be just any old donkey. Extremely careful selection would be needed. Some donkeys were known to be very temperamental, obstinate, dangerous even. He would have to choose his animal very carefully. Could there be such a thing as a wise donkey?  The Postman would be the person most likely to be aware of the potential for a quiet donkey transaction. The Postman would know who might have one for sale; he would be aware of those unfortunates who no longer needed their donkey due to permanent incarceration in the Workhouse, in a terminal sick-bed or in a coffin.  

Within a few weeks of Johnnie's first discussion regarding available donkeys with the Postman, the Workhouse door had opened for elderly and feeble Molly O'Hanrahan and, consequently, Molly's donkey, named Ribbon, needed a new owner. Molly had nieces and nephews who drove a hard bargain for Ribbon and her traditional cart. They demanded separate payment for the meticulously cared-for harness. Finally, after much haggling, the transaction was completed and Johnnie arrived at the Gill's farmyard, lying on the floor of the little donkey-cart, proudly driving Ribbon, with Eureka on tow behind. Johnnie announced that this was HIS donkey and cart, not merely something he had borrowed for the day. He reminded everyone that it was the 23rd of June, his 30th birthday, and Ribbon and her little cart was a birthday gift to himself. His sisters, Susan and Ada, admired the placid donkey, stroked its nose and patted its neck; his brother, Richard, seethed with ill-concealed jealousy. Standing in the doorway some distance away, Johnnie's mother wondered how many new problems and embarrassments would follow the arrival of this donkey with the silly name of Ribbon.

Johnnie's father had no objection to the new addition and the seldom-used, thatched, building known as 'The Welcome Inn,' became Ribbon's stable. The adjacent lean-to was cleared of rubbish and rubble and it provided shelter for the donkey-cart. Johnnie devised methods for cart and donkey management that ensured his total independence. He constructed a platform inside Ribbon's stable from which he could handle all the donkey's harnessing requirements. With the help of a couple of modified spade-handles with hooks at the end, Johnnie was able to back Ribbon under the tipped up shafts of the cart, pull  the shafts down, guide the back-chain into it's place across the straddle, then, with the help of a short pole with a hook at one end, he could secure both draft and britchen chains. Result: One efficiently tackled donkey and cart. Ribbon proved to be obedient, gentle and it was obvious that she had been well-trained. She was quickly accepted, befriended and frequently petted by everyone in the family, even by Richard eventually. 

On the days that followed the arrival of Ribbon there was much sawing and hammering going on at the foot of the workshop steps where Johnnie was making modifications to his donkey-cart. Richard, watched the operation for a while and later reported that Johnnie had sawn the entire floor out of the cart and that such destruction of a perfectly good cart shouldn't be allowed. Nobody agreed with him. Johnnie must have had good reason to do such a thing; he always had good reasons for doing the unexpected. And so it was with his donkey-cart floor.

He had arranged the right hand side of the cart floor to pivot like a see-saw so that when it was tipped backwards, with the help of a knotted rope, Johnnie could haul Eureka, with himself on board, up the inclined floor. On reaching the balance point the floor tipped forwards into the usual cart-floor position, placing Johnnie, still on Eureka, in what was to be his prone, Ribbon-driving position. Donkey driving would be like that for decades to come. A couple of wooden pegs secured everything safely while traveling. On releasing the pegs Johnnie moved Eureka backwards until the floor began to tip, and, controlled by the knotted rope, Johnnie, on Eureka, trundled down gently and safely to the ground.

"Didja ever see Johnnie Gill getting in an' outa his dunkey-cart?!" was a common question around Castletown Bere. On his visits to the town he was sometimes followed by a group of children, curious to see how the agile cripple managed the feat. 

 Their curiosity never bothered Johnnie, he seemed to enjoy showing off his strange skills to an appreciative audience. He was proud to be IN TOTAL CONTROL and he became a well-known character as he and Ribbon travelled the roads and lanes, delivering chairs, repairing harness, adjusting and repairing sewing machines and occasionally making fishing flies for the aristocracy. 

Who was Johnnie Gill? Chapter 13

by Victor Sullivan   © 2015   Fair Day
1890

Cattle and drovers filled the roads leading to Castletown Bere for the Autumn Fair Day. The town square was filled with grim-faced farmers, shifty-looking cattle buyers, steaming cattle, horse-carts with sheep in them, horse-carts with pigs in them, horses with riders on saddles, horses with riders without saddles, donkey-carts, a bull being led by a rope attached to his nose-ring. The ground was awash with cow-dung and soft and gentle rain fell steadily upon the smelly scene. Buyers were trying to strike early bargains in the hope of securing space on one of the two small ships that waited at the nearby pier. Their purchases would be ferried to Bantry, from where the animals would continue their journey by rail. 

The Gill family had six bullocks to sell and while his father herded the cattle along the road, Johnnie followed behind on the floor of the horse-cart, driving Nancy. Autumn Fair Day, or any other Fair Day for that matter, was no place for Eureka to be, down there among all those hooves and legs and shit! Although there was no formal allocation of space for individual farmers on the town square, or anywhere else, each family had a traditional patch to which they tended to gravitate with their animals on a fair day, there to await the attention of the cattle buyers. So it was with the Gills. With Nancy's reins tied to one of the rings on the wall of The Corner Bar, the six bullocks formed a tight group beside the cart. 

The bullocks were in prime condition and were quickly spotted by the cattle- buyers who then delayed making any approach as they did not wish to be seen as keen to buy and thus risk pushing the price up. Eventually a cattle-buyer approached, grunted a lot, but soon the deal was done and Thomas Gill was asked to drive the animals to the pier, which he did. Then he visited the Bank to deposit the fruits of the transaction. 

In the upstairs window of The Corner Bar a curtain moved. An eye peeped out at the scene spread out below on the town square. Men with caps and hats, very few bare heads, occasional sticks waving in the air, cattle everywhere, several horses, a few carts with pigs and several with sheep. Since opening time, her uncle had been serving the few early drinkers. The bar had not yet filled with men who had sold their produce and had immediately developed a thirst.

Aged nineteen, Brenda, a farmer's daughter who lived quite close to the town, had been begged and cajoled to come to help her uncle behind the bar occasionally, especially on Fair Days or other busy occasions. The bar was beginning to get busy and she would be called down to assist at any moment.  The curtain was pulled back further as the curious girl pressed her blonde head against the glass, trying to get a better view of something odd that had caught her eye on the horse-cart immediately below the window. Someone was lying on the cart in an un-natural position. Then, just as she realised that she was looking at the cripple, Johnnie Gill, Brenda saw two youths with sticks approach the cart and to her horror, they appeared to prod the occupant with their sticks. Then they moved, one to each side of the horse where they quickly undid the britchen and draft chains and hoisted the shafts of the cart into the air, causing the crippled occupant to slide helplessly onto the filthy ground. Brenda had seen enough. She dashed down the stairs and into the bar, shouting at the top of her voice:

"There are two blackguards beating up poor Johnnie Gill outside the door!" 

Glasses were instantly put down and there was a rush for the door. Outside, two bullys were shouting, 

"Where's your old blacksmith now?" as they began to kick Johnnie repeatedly. That was the very moment when the bar customers reached them. Painfully, very painfully, they realised that it was now their turn to lie down beside their victim to be rolled over and over in the cowdung while very rough justice rained down upon them from boots, sticks and a horse-whip. They had to promise to never, ever again, never, never, NEVER, NEVER, interfere in any way with Johnnie Gill and that God might strike them blind if they ever did such a thing again. Furthermore, if they mistreated the cripple again, the pair of them would be taken out to sea on a fishing trip…. 

"Can you swim?"

"No."

"So much the better for you! 'Tis quicker if you can't swim."

And with that chilling threat, the rescuers returned to their drinks, while a few stayed to help Johnnie and ensure that his two humiliated, filthy and battered attackers left the busy town square without delay. Johnnie had suffered a few bruises from the kicks but he made light of it as, thankfully, he had been wearing Cromwell. A concerned Brenda brought a bucket of water and Johnnie, with much good-humoured encouragement, persuaded her to throw it over him. They laughed about it and he told her jokes. After three or four more buckets of water and several more laughs, she had him looking reasonably presentable, just as his non-drinking father returned from the Bank, seeking an explanation as to why Nancy had been un-tackled from her cart. 

Brenda watched the horse being re-tackled and she clapped at Johnnie's agile, rope-assisted climb onto its flat floor. What had surprised her most about the entire incident was how naturally and nicely Johnnie had spoken to her. He had thanked her for pouring water over him and for cleaning up the cloak thing he called Cromwell. In spite of the odd circumstances, it had been quite a friendly sort of chat that they had, not in the least like the incoherent mutterings she had expected from a cow-dung covered cripple. She would have to alter her opinion of cripples, well, some of them anyway. Johnnie had been so polite, respectable and well-spoken, even when covered in cow-dung! A gentleman cripple!

 Thomas Gill hoisted himself onto the setlock of the horse-cart and turned Nancy towards home. Brenda went and scrubbed her hands clean, wiped her face, tidied her hair and returned to the bar to assist her uncle behind the counter.  Her hands and face may have been clean but the hem of her skirt bore generous bovine evidence that she had been squatting beside the cripple, Johnnie Gill, in the town square, on Fair Day.

Who was Johnnie Gill? Chapter 12

By Victor Sullivan © 2015    RATS
(This chapter is not suitable reading for the squeamish!)

Johnnie's early rat-kills were achieved with a stick or with his slingshot. Consequently word spread that he was a useful rat-catcher. He disliked the term and he disliked going into someone else's farm to kill rats. The slingshot was not accurate and the customer expected to see a row of dead rats arranged for inspection. With luck, he might kill one or two. It was not a rewarding enterprise. Rat-traps would be far more reliable and would not require him to spend hours waiting for a rat to put in an appearance.
He had seen rat traps of the gin-trap type but construction of such things were beyond his capacity. He could make cage traps.
His prototype consisted of a wood box with a door at one end, hinged at the top, with a heavy weight to close it when the trip mechanism carrying the bait was released by the visiting rat. It worked but it had a drawback. Unless the captive rat was detected and dispatched by dog or by drowning very promptly, a desperate rat had no difficulty in gnawing its way through the wooden side and escaping, leaving behind a useless wooden trap with an escape hole in its side.
Johnnie's improved design consisted of a strong wire cage that proved to be less prone to escapes. It still had a disadvantage. Once it had caught one rat it ceased to catch any more until its contents had been killed and removed and the trap re-baited and reset.
The next major development of Johnnie's traps was his creation of the 'everlasting' Lobster-Pot Rat Trap. Some of these may still survive, forgotten and hidden high in the roof-timbers of sheds and out-houses. Based on the traditional design of a lobster-pot, Johnnie's 'everlasting' trap had a similar entry tunnel with bait tied at the far end. Beyond the entry tunnel was a large interior space. Unlike a lobster-pot, a lightly balanced trap-door at the end of the tunnel dropped the exploring rat into the spacious holding zone and the trap-door instantly reset itself in readiness for the next visiting rodent. This type of trap was made from strong fencing wire and a thin metal plate formed the tipping trapdoor.
Improvements followed, the most notable one being a hook set at the end of a long pole with which the door-catch at the end of the trap could be released efficiently, in the presence of one or two efficient terriers, without any personal risk. The hooked pole could be used to transport the cage of live rats to a suitable stream or water-butt for terminal submersion. The cage-traps worked but Johnnie did not promote their sale. They took a long time to make and customers were less willing to pay a fair price for rat catching equipment than they were for chairs or fishing tackle.